


When the War Isn't Over

by stilinstuck (superagentwolf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Has Feelings, Fantastic Beasts AU, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Oblivious Stiles, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/stilinstuck
Summary: Stiles is summoned back to America and MACUSA- and, curiously, Derek Hale. Something strange is happening, but all he really cares about is making sure Isaac is okay. Except maybe he should really be asking why a magizoologist was recruited into the task force fighting Deucalion's minions.He's just enjoying Derek in a suit.





	When the War Isn't Over

Based on tumblr user MySnarkySelf's lovely [gifset](http://mysnarkyself.tumblr.com/tagged/srb-author-superagentwolf), which was a fabulous inspiration.

Many thanks to [1989 dreamer](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/), who beta read for me. 

 

* * *

 

“We need help,” Derek says firmly, watching Lydia move around the table.

The President, he thinks, is a little too stubborn for her own good. As well as everyone else’s. He watches her dress ripple, the golden Celtic swirls on it flickering in the lamplight. She is curious- attached to relics of history and culture that most would consider kitsch. She wears the circlet and dress, however, with a dignity that permeates everything else she does.

“We don’t need _this_.”

Derek feels his jaw clenching, but he fights to loosen up.

“I know what it will look like. That’s only _if_ someone finds out.”

“Someone always finds out,” she murmurs, fingers tracing the map on the table.

“We don’t have a choice. We need help. We need to find him.”

“…your team?”

“Erica- a new Auror. Idealistic, but earnest. Scott- her brother, a Legilimens. He holds an office position, but he could be a useful asset. Boyd.”

Lydia nods, glancing at the map.

“Boyd is good. Erica? I know she found Isaac, but…”

“I’m not choosing her because she found an Obscurial. And you know what I think about Isaac.”

Lydia’s expression hardens.

“I am not letting him out of this building, Derek. You know that.”

“He’s not dangerous to us. We could use him.”

“You’re not certain of that. No one is. He shouldn’t even be alive.”

Derek drops it. He knows he won’t be able to convince her.

“Fine. Then we need Stilinski.”

* * *

His fingers are tense on the handle of his case.

The journey was long, and he isn’t too fond of boats. Traveling is fun, yes, but he’d rather do things differently. Not on the water. And he hadn’t been able to see his creatures as often.

Still, he’s finally here, and MACUSA looms up at him imposingly in black and gold. He’s standing there when a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Stiles!”

He turns, beaming.

“Scott! How have you been?”

“I’m great. How are you? Keeping out of trouble?”

“I’ve never been in trouble,” Stiles says seriously, but he’s smiling.

“Come on,” Erica directs them as she passes. “He’s waiting.”

Scott casts Stiles a significant look.

“Do you know why he called you?”

“To be honest, I thought- I still think- he hates me. I mean, the last time I visited, my case was swapped and I helped Erica find an Obscurial.”

His hands tighten again. He doesn’t like how Martin handled the situation. He knows it’s her purview, and he wouldn’t try to exert political influence, but he isn’t happy with Isaac’s situation. Keeping a young man locked up for a crime committed against him seems wrong.

Still, he’s at least happy that Scott and Erica have been around to keep an eye on him. Keep him safe.

“You know what you did was good. I can’t imagine what would have happened if he’d gone unnoticed for longer. It’s only been a year, but look at what’s been happening- the Second Salemers are gaining momentum. Deucalion broke out.”

“Chaos,” Stiles agrees, trying to keep his tone light.

Really, he’s worried. The last time things were this bad, there was a war. A war that cost too much. But really, he thinks, any cost is too high when it comes to war.

He pauses before the door to the conference room. Scott looks at him, clear-eyed as usual. _Perceptive._ He may be a Legilimens, but even if he weren’t Stiles thinks Scott would be very intuitive.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

* * *

“Now that we’re all here,” Lydia starts, surveying the room, “I’ll begin.”

Derek glances at the others. His gaze lingers on Stiles. _He looks different. Has it only been a year?_ He remembers the younger man. Always insistent, _per_ sistent, with his case of creatures and unfailing loyalty to his friends. _We’re not all that unlike each other._ _Or so they tell me._

“I’m sure you all know that Deucalion is at large. The Second Salemers have also become quite prominent in the city. These are facts- and they, among other things, are affecting the wizarding community. They’re making things unstable. They are making _us_ unstable.”

“Madame President- what does Deucalion have to do with us? Wouldn’t he be at work in Britain?” Erica asks, casting an apologetic glance at Stiles.

“Deucalion himself is not in America,” Lydia says firmly, “but rest assured, his followers are. We know they are the ones that cause problems for us. The kind of problems that give the Second Salemers credence.”

“So what exactly is our function?” Boyd asks. “Where do we even begin?”

A young Auror, but a good one, Stiles thinks. Dedicated. Loyal. Almost like another Hale. It’s no wonder Lydia is biased towards him.

“We have been alerted that some of Deucalion’s followers may be in the city. These,” Lydia gestures, and papers flutter up to a board. “Twins. We don’t know their names. Kali.”

“Those are three of his closest circle,” Stiles breathes, unable to keep quiet. “What on earth are they doing here?”

“Nothing good,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles casts a glance at him, trying to feel the man out. _I can’t tell if he hates me or not._

“Your purpose is to flush them out. We need them _captured,_ ” Lydia stresses. “Hale will give you the specifics.”

The room bursts into a low murmur- no surprise- but Stiles quickly moves across the floor, catching the President before she leaves.

“Madame President.”

She turns, a red eyebrow raised. Her circlet is gold, with spirals curling around the band. She is beautiful, he thinks, in an intimidating way.

“Yes?”

“What am I doing here?”

“You’re here to help, Mr. Stilinski.”

Her expression is nonplussed, but he knows how good she is at acting. She’s the President.

“And what exactly does a magizoologist have to offer a team of Aurors?”

“I’ve been asking the same question,” she says lightly, but her eyes hold a cold edge.

She turns away, leaving, and when Stiles turns back he sees Derek staring at him from across the room.

_Fantastic. I’ve made them both angry._

* * *

“You’ll be with me.”

 _Help,_ Stiles thinks desperately, casting a glance at Scott, but his friend simply smiles and walks away.

_Traitor._

“What exactly am I here for?”

“You’re here to help.”

Hale seems to flinch minutely at the statement. Stiles raises an eyebrow.

“You sound like the President.”

He knows that’s probably why Hale flinched, but he’s feeling petty and defensive. He hasn’t ever done anything to Hale, but the man remains frustratingly standoffish.

“The President does not agree with my decision to bring you on.”

“… _your_ decision?” Stiles asks, incredulous.

Derek raises an eyebrow. A perfect eyebrow. _Wait-_

“Yes. _My_ decision. We know Deucalion has never hesitated to use unorthodox methods. Kali’s a werewolf. A vicious one. He’s used creatures- venoms- to attack other wizards before. Having you will give us assistance, should the need arise.”

“…you brought me across the ocean because you thought Deucalion’s people _might_ use poison?”

Derek blinks, and for a second, Stiles thinks the man is flustered. It makes him surprisingly giddy. _Why am I so excited? I know I’m annoying. I’ve just annoyed him. Nothing else._

And then Derek glances around the room, reaches for Stiles’ elbow, and guides him into the hallway.

He’s standing very close. Very, _very_ close.

“It’s about Isaac.”

“What about him?”

“Martin isn’t planning on letting him out any time soon. She has good reasons, but I don’t think they’re unfixable. He barely has control. He needs friends. Support.”

“Have Erica and Scott been visiting him?”

“Yes. He seems to like Scott the most.”

“Everyone likes Scott the most,” Stiles smiles.

Derek pauses, looking down at him, and Stiles becomes acutely aware of their proximity. He tries not to inhale too much, because Derek smells like pine and his suit is _perfectly_ tailored-

“Hm,” Derek murmurs. “Well, I’m hoping you can help him. For now, you’ll stay with him. I’ll have you come with me on reconnaissance so Martin doesn’t suspect anything.”

“You think she won’t notice?” Stiles asks, amused.

“Oh, I know she will. This way, she won’t have just cause to arrest and deport you.”

“Oh,” Stiles says faintly, watching Derek hide a smirk as he walks away. “Okay.”

* * *

“It’s not bad,” Isaac murmurs, resting his heels on the wall, head hanging off the edge of the bed.

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s not,” Isaac says firmly, righting himself. “I have food. A bed. I can bathe. This isn’t a cell- they may keep me in with magic, but at least I’m not boxed in by concrete.”

Stiles props his chin on his hand, wheeling his chair closer to the bed.

“The others have been visiting.”

“Yes,” Isaac says, smiling a little. “They’re nice. It’s good to see them.”

“And your magic?”

The smile falters.

“I’m still…afraid to use it. Try.”

“I know it’s scary.”

“It is. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Stiles leans against the back of the chair, thinking.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that. I did, before.”

_Well. How to fix this?_

He glances at the door, watching the dark backs of the Aurors guarding it. Glass. He withdraws his wand, waving, and slides his case at the foot of the bed. Isaac watches, curious.

“Follow me,” Stiles says, watching his shadow versions of them talk. Soundless.

Isaac pauses.

“Come on. You’ll like it.”

* * *

Watching Isaac interact with the creatures is like watching a different kind of magic- Stiles wonders if this is what Allison felt like, when she’d stumbled upon the wizarding world.

It still hurts a little to think of her, and he knows Scott’s probably hurting more, but he pushes the thoughts aside and focuses. Right now, Isaac needs his attention.

“Bowtruckles,” Stiles murmurs, watching a wide-eyed Isaac extend his hand towards the tree.

The tiny creatures are wary, but they seem to sense Isaac’s wonder, and they’re eager to please. A few dance up the boy’s arm, twiglike limbs waving gleefully as they explore the new guest.

“They’re amazing,” Isaac manages, his smile wide and delighted.

It makes Stiles’ heart warm. He hopes, if only a little, he can help Isaac feel this safe in the outside world.

* * *

“Good. I need to talk to you,” Derek says, pulling Stiles gently by the arm.

The younger man blinks, looking a little flustered, but then he always looks a little distracted. Derek wonders what it’s like in his head. _Probably interesting,_ he thinks, and then berates himself. _He’s not here for you to wonder about._

But, he sort of is. After all, Derek hadn’t really had a solid justification for bringing the man in. He’d simply…wanted to see him.

Which is terrible, considering the circumstances, but there’s something different about Stiles.

“-what is it? Is it Martin? She knows about Isaac?”

He looks concerned, and Derek isn’t sure whether he should feel jealous or proud.

“…no. But I’ll need you to come with me today. It’s a simple investigation. Just watching apartments.”

“Oh. Surveillance,” Stiles breathes, relief clear in his voice. “Right. Yes.”

Derek doesn’t bother wondering what’s going on in Stiles’ head.

“Three o’clock, here.”

* * *

“You’ll need to stay alert,” Derek says, casting a sideways glance at Stiles.

They’re walking through a crowd of No-Maj, shuffling into the traffic, keeping their heads down. It’s noisy- almost too noisy to talk, but he knows Stiles is listening. He may seem vacant at times, but Derek knows firsthand how perceptive he can be. _After all, he’s the one who figured out what Isaac was._

They walk up a staircase in a bookshop, up to the second floor. The man at the front desk gives them a brief look and the door to the stairwell unlocks on its own. Derek is grateful for those living in such close quarters to No-Maj; he can’t imagine hiding his magic, but it’s useful to have witches and wizards who can lend their intelligence to MACUSA.

“What do you know so far?” Stiles asks when they reach the landing.

The room is wide, bookcases filled to the ceiling and stacks cluttered around the floor. The windows hum lowly with a charm; something to make it seem empty from the outside. It would be suspicious to make the windows dark.

“There are three men hiding out in the apartments. They have connections to Kali. It’s a mostly no-maj complex, so we’re wary of getting too close. If anything, we want to draw them out. Get them somewhere safer for the no-maj.”

Stiles hums a little in understanding, pacing the room.

“Do they ever leave?”

“No, but someone comes by to drop things off. We’re not sure what- paper bags. Could be food, or communication.”

“Or both. Is the delivery boy involved?”

“We don’t think so.”

“Always the same one? Could we replace him with one of ours? Or-,”

“Always the same one,” Derek replies, a little surprised at the questions. _They’re good questions. But I forget, he had a part to play in the war. He’s no fool._ “If we used polyjuice, we’d be taking a risk. If he’s a no-maj, we don’t want to interrogate him or affect him too much. They might use a code word, though- so we’d be walking in blind.”

Stiles leans against the window. It’s dim outside- it’s always dim this close to the factories- but there’s sun breaking through the clouds. Derek watches the way it illuminates the side of the man’s face. He wonders, not for the first time, what Stiles did before. Before the war. During. After. _Was he changed? Has he always been like this? Before, what did he want do with his life?_

Too many questions.

“Why don’t we just…take the cargo?”

“…we can’t just take it,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles turns, excited, and Derek tries to ignore the way it lights his face up. _Now is not the time._

“But we can. Bump into the boy, apologize, help him pick up a few items…and take what we think we need.”

“…you mean duplicate it,” Derek realizes, raising his other eyebrow. _Impressive, but…_ “That requires very specific skill. It’s a very difficult charm.”

“Yes. Well. I mean…,”

“You can do it?”

Derek tries not to sound too surprised. It _is_ a difficult charm- it’s almost a curse, really. It requires extreme power and concentration; duplicating a cup, for instance, is relatively simple. Duplicating something like a letter, with both an outside and inside, is significantly more complex.

“Give me a chance, and we’ll see. No one here knows me- even some people back home don’t know me. You, however-,”

“All right,” Derek interrupts, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll give you a chance. If it doesn’t work, we won’t lose anything. _If_ you do it right.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Stiles smirks. “I bump into people all the time.”

Derek watches him descend the stairs, feeling a little lost. He’s beginning to wonder how much of Stiles’ distracted manner is an act.

If he’s being honest, it’s a little bit attractive.

Just a little.

* * *

“Stiles!”

_Erica._

“Hey,” he smiles, turning to watch her enter the room.

“How are you?” she asks first, turning to Isaac.

“Good,” he answers, smiling.

Erica looks a little surprised. _He isn’t hesitating anymore,_ Stiles thinks. _It could be the creatures. It could also be everyone else- they’re helping, even if they can only visit for a short time._

“Stiles- Derek wanted to talk to you about the letter you duplicated. He says it’s important.”

“Okay. I’ll come by later,” he tells Isaac, and then slips out the door.

Derek isn’t in his office, though.

“Where is he…,” Stiles mutters, peering around the hallway.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Scott-! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Derek? I think he left. I’m not sure why.”

“ _He_ wanted to see me,” Stiles grumbles.

“Of course,” Scott grins.

Stiles blinks. _Wait…_

“What do you know?”

“What?” Scott starts walking away.

“Scott! What do you _know_?” he hisses, following.

“Stiles, you know I don’t like telling,” Scott berates him, waving at office workers as he walks.

“Scott. Please.”

“All in good time,” the man says cheerily, waving him away as an Auror walks up to him.

“Right,” Stiles tells the air. “Sure. In time.”

* * *

“Where is he?”

Stiles swallows, hard.

He’s toe-to-toe with the President, and it isn’t quite the way he wants to be remembered by her.

“Sorry?”

“Derek. Where is he?”

“…he hasn’t come in?” Stiles asks, heartbeat hitching.

“No,” Lydia says slowly, eyes sharp. “That’s why I’m asking _you._ Where. Is. He.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, trying to be calm. “We were supposed to meet yesterday to talk about the letter.”

“And you never met?”

“By the time I got to his office, Scott told me he’d left.”

“Did he say why?”

“Not that I know.”

He watches Lydia turn, sighing, her arms crossed angrily over her chest.

“This is a problem. I want him found. _Now._ ”

“Yes, Madam President.”

* * *

He’s intrigued by Derek’s apartment.

It’s not what he expected. It’s quiet, and simple, with wood floors that are charmed clean. A little messy- not with anything official, but with spare bits of parchment and maps and things. Stiles wonders what Derek does in his spare time. _Does he read? He has plenty of books. Write, maybe? Or does he not spend much time here?_

He’s honestly been curious about Derek for quite some time. Even during the war, he’d heard about the Auror. A man whose job ran in his blood. His family was one of the originals- he carried the blood of one of the first Aurors. Even carrying the Hale name, the man had supposedly stood out from childhood. Dedicated, quick, and low-profile. He was perfect, according to everyone. He didn’t ask too many questions, and always asked the right ones.

He was the perfect soldier, or so they’d said.

But the first time Stiles had met him, _soldier_ was not the word that came to mind. Hale was quiet. He spoke little, but when he spoke his voice was met with silence. He was respected, and feared by those who didn’t know him. But Erica had been quick to tell Stiles the truth.

_He’s hopelessly loyal. So loyal, Stiles. He would do anything for us. For his team. Sometimes he does too much for us. I wish he’d relax, let us take some of the weight. But it’s not in him. All he’s ever known is responsibility. With his ability, it’s no wonder._

“We have to find him,” Erica murmurs, searching the apartment. “We have to.”

“We will,” Stiles murmurs, ducking to look under the couch. “We just need to find out where he went when he left the office, if he made it- we need to know where he was last.”

“What we _really_ need is a sniffer dog,” Erica sighs, leafing through papers.

Stiles pops up, clipping his head on the edge of the coffee table. He can feel a bump forming, and Erica looks both amused and horrified, but he’s too busy grinning to care.

“Well. I don’t know about a _dog,_ but…”

* * *

“No,” Martin says, tense.

“But, Madam-,”

“ _No_ ,” she repeats, eyes fiery as she turns back towards the table, away from Erica.

“Madam President, with all due respect, you won’t be able to find him without my help,” Stiles interrupts.

She turns, sharp.

“We have managed to function perfectly well without your assistance until now, Mr. Stilinski.”

“You think they took him. Deucalion’s people. You’re right.”

Erica casts him a frightened look. _You know?_ She seems to be asking him. He knows he can’t make eye contact with her, though. Not if he’s going to convince the President.

“How do you know?” Martin asks, voice tight.

 _She’s scared,_ he realizes, and then he berates himself for not figuring it out sooner. _She’s the President, and she’s worried. She has a secret nation she must worry about. They have no way of fixing things if Deucalion’s people wreak havoc._

_That, and Derek is valuable._

“Whatever was in that letter, I’m willing to bet it was enough to abduct him. They _have_ to know who he is. They wouldn’t risk taking an Auror like him in the middle of the day unless it was urgent.”

“We don’t know what was in that letter,” Martin finally says. “There’s no way to plan-,”

She trails off, turning slowly towards the door, and Stiles follows her gaze.

He can hear something in the distance.

Erica steps closer to him, wand ready, and in the blink of an eye the door is blown wide open. Boyd stands among the wreckage, wand raised, dust and debris covering his left side.

“We’re under attack,” he says, expression serious, and Martin inhales sharply. “Come with me.”

* * *

Stiles steps out and into destruction.

It’s chaos everywhere. There are papers fluttering down the gilded hallways, flapping with worn-out charms that are fading rapidly. He can hear sparks flying, screams and words unintelligible. Erica casts him a horrified look.

“Scott.”

“Go,” he reassures her, squeezing her shoulder. “Be careful.”

Martin is ducking by Boyd, trying to follow him.

“Where are you taking her?” Stiles asks.

“To a secure location,” Boyd barks. “If you come, your priority is to protect her. If you stay, you’re on your own.”

He barely hears the response, something clicking in the back of his mind. _Disappeared, and the letter…the letter…what they’re after…_

“I know what they’re after,” Stiles gasps, wheeling around, coat flapping.

“Wait-,” Martin starts, brow furrowed, but he interrupts her as he runs in the other direction.

“They’re after Isaac!”

He doesn’t wait for her reaction. He runs at full tilt, sprinting around slick corridors, barely keeping upright on the marble floor. His hands involuntarily reach for the corners of the walls, grabbing to propel himself faster.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Stiles chants, panicking a little. “Come on.”

Something crackles and flies his way- a curse, he thinks- but it’s easily deflected. He’s torn between worrying about the team, Isaac, and Derek. He knows what his priority is- Isaac has control, but it would be all too easy for one of Deucalion’s people to get to him.

Still. He’s worried about Derek. He could be injured, or who knows…

“Isaac!” He yells, rounding a corner, and he slides to a stop in front of the glass room.

Derek is there, at the door.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles breathes, walking closer. “Derek. Where have you _been_?”

“They’re after him,” the man says shortly, glancing down the hallway. “I’m getting him out.”

“I know,” Stiles says, waiting for the door to open. “But we can’t just walk him out the front door.”

Derek is quiet.

It makes Stiles hesitate. He glances sideways, calculating. _Could it be a charm? Is he being forced? Watched? Threatened?_ He tries to look for a clue. Anything- something out of place, something-

_His wand._

It had been one of the first things he’d noticed, when he’d met Derek. He’d assumed there was a trick to it- the man had been disarmed, and another wizard who’d picked up the wand had been unable to use it. He knows there are ways- runes, sigils, things to restrict ownership. It’s dangerous magic, but he’s willing to bet Derek could successfully do it.

The wand the man is holding would almost be identical, except it’s missing one vital thing- or at least, it’s in the wrong place. There’s a triskele on the side, just above his thumb.

That’s what’s wrong.

 _I shouldn’t be able to see it,_ Stiles thinks.  _It should be hidden. It was always hidden under his hand, until I saw him disarmed. Until I picked it up for him._

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” Isaac asks, eyes wide.

The hallway rumbles with the distant sounds of battle.

“We have to get you out,” he explains, turning in a circle. “Ah. The case.”

“I think it’s better if I-,” Not-Derek starts, lifting a hand, but Stiles waves him away.

“No- they won’t see him if he’s in the case. I’ll get him out, to safety.”

“Let me,” Not-Derek insists, urgent. “I can protect him. I’m an Auror, Stiles. You have to trust me.”

_Do I resist him? How far can I go before he realizes I know?_

He glances at Isaac, trying to communicate in a single glance. _Don’t believe him. Don’t trust him. It’s not Derek._

“No,” he says simply, lifting his chin, trying to play up his stubbornness.

Derek watches him, eyes flickering, and something cold slides into them. Stiles opens his mouth, _he knows, he knows I know,_ and then there’s a yell and he’s blocking a bright light of magic.

“ _Run_!” He screams at Isaac, throwing his case back at the boy.

He hears Isaac run from the room and as soon as he’s able, he throws a shield up and follows him. The imposter behind him roars.

“It’s not Derek!” He yells, following Isaac. “It’s Deucalion!”

They’re running down the hallways when they almost careen into Erica and Scott.

“Oh-! Stiles!” Erica gasps, “I- is that Derek? De-,”

“No!” Stiles yells, pushing her back into another hall. “It’s Deucalion, he’s using polyjuice- run!”

“What? Deucalion?!”

“He’s after Isaac!”

Sparks fly overhead as they run, barely shielding their way. Scott looks pale- Stiles hopes he’s all right. He knows how hard it is for Legilimens, especially in crowded settings. _He must be taxing himself._

They run out into the foyer, barely missing a dueling pair. Almost all of the intruders have been immobilized, he notices, but the most dangerous man is still following them.

“Stay put,” Stiles manages, breathless, pushing Isaac under a desk. “Scott.”

“I’ve got him,” the man says, firm, wand ready.

“Erica, help me clear them out,” Stiles says, trying to plan.

_We can’t run. We can’t let him out. All we can do is fight, and keep him away from Isaac._

“We can’t do this alone,” Erica manages, shielding them while she gets her bearings.

“…no. No, but we’re not alone,” Stiles realizes, turning back to the desk. “Isaac. The Swooping Evil.”

They’re fending off a few of Deucalion’s followers- he notices Kali tied up by a desk, probably Boyd’s handiwork- when footsteps echo in the hallway. _Deucalion,_ he thinks, shivering a little. He knows what the man has done. He’s seen the terror he leaves in his wake.

Something slips under his sleeve. He tries not to smile. _I just have to get him close enough,_ he thinks, _and find out where he took Derek._

“I need one shot,” he breathes, and Erica looks back at him, worried but hopeful. “Just one.”

The imposter rounds the corner, purposeful. It’s frightening to see- this person, in Derek’s body, but not the same. He walks with a malicious stride, as if he wants to wither the ground beneath him. The hazel eyes Stiles has seen so close are no longer kind or shaded- they’re cold and cruel.

“How nice of you to wait for me,” the man smiles, twirling his wand between his fingers.

“Where did you take Derek?” Stiles demands.

“Right to business, then,” the man grins, his smile all teeth, and then his hand moves violently.

It’s so like Derek, but so unlike him. The same grace, the same purpose- but there is evil behind the magic, and it’s so dark it’s palpable. Stiles blocks, ducking and moving around the tables. _He doesn’t know where Isaac is. All we can do is corral him. Guide him so that I can get close._ He’s not willing to risk the man stunning his creature; he knows only a close hit and the element of surprise will help him now.

“Tell me where you took him!”

“Derek, _Derek,_ ” the man yells, wand slashing in increasingly violent motions. “What does it _matter_? I _will_ have what I came for. You _will_ give me the Obscurial.”

Erica cries out and Stiles watches Deucalion turn, inhumanly fast, striking her side.

“Erica!”

“I’m fine!” she shouts back, gasping, rolling behind a desk.

Deucalion laughs and Stiles can see Scott getting angry. He slides along the edges of desks, frightened but determined. _No, no,_ Stiles thinks, _don’t move too far, please-_

“Why don’t you tell me? Is it because he was too powerful for you? You couldn’t catch him, could you? Had to resort to tricks. Traps.”

Deucalion turns, fury on his stolen features, and it sends a chill down Stiles’ spine. _It’s not Derek,_ he tells himself, disturbed. _It’s not._

“I am more powerful than you know,” the man says coldly, a barrage of attacks exploding outwards.

“Leave him alone,” Isaac says, voice echoing, and Stiles’ heart drops.

“Isaac, don’t-,”

“No, no,” Deucalion smiles, eyes lighting. “Let him. Let the poor thing try. What happened last time you tried, Isaac? Have you hurt people? You have, haven’t you?”

“Don’t listen to him!” Stiles roars, attacking again, desperate, but Deucalion blocks him as he continues to talk.

“You’ve killed them. Your father, isn’t that right? Your siblings…”

“No,” Isaac whispers, and Stiles feels his strength waning.

“Isaac, don’t listen to him-,”

“Let’s see what you’re made of, boy,” Deucalion laughs softly, and then his wand finds Isaac.

Stiles can hear someone screaming- Erica, or Scott, or himself, maybe all of them and maybe Isaac- and then there’s an explosion of sparks and color. He can see the green light, crackling and bright, focused on Isaac.

And somehow, miraculously, a wavering shield in front of Isaac. It is dark and powerful and Stiles has no idea how Isaac is doing it, but he knows it won’t last. He tries to move closer, struggling, and then he sees Martin and her bodyguards rounding the corner behind Isaac.

“No- NO!”

He has no time.

He rushes, running towards Deucalion, watching him turn even as Isaac’s shield wanes. Stiles’ hand moves almost on its own- and maybe it’s the creature- unfurling, letting the Swooping Evil burst forth. It is almost too fast, spreading in color and light, and then Deucalion falls to his knees and Stiles is landing on his knees behind the man.

He barely notices Erica roll in front of Isaac, Scott appearing next to her as a torrent of light showers on them from the President’s Aurors.

He hears someone yelling, barely audible above the ringing in his ears and the cracks of spells hitting Erica and Scott’s shields.

“STOP!”

It’s the President.

The wands lower, and Stiles breathes out, silence enveloping the room. He barely lifts himself up off the floor, leaning on a desk, and Isaac stays behind Erica and Scott.

“You’ll want to see this,” Stiles says, voice hoarse from yelling, and Martin turns to him.

“…Hale?” she manages, and Stiles give her credit for the way she keeps a poker face.

“No,” Stiles says simply.

Her eyes darken and she moves closer, Boyd following. The man casts the President a look, interpreting it somehow, and then his wand moves to unveil the man bound at their feet.

“…Deucalion,” Martin breathes, eyes lighting with anger and realization.

The man raises his head, a cold half-smile twisting his lips.

“Notify the Ministry,” she says, eyes locked on the man.

“You think you can contain me?” the man laughs, eyes sliding around the destroyed first floor of MACUSA.

“We’ll do our best,” Martin says lightly, the ice in her voice cutting.

Stiles exhales, watching Boyd and the others secure the man as his creature returns to him, curling up his wrist again.

“Good,” he murmurs, stroking its coils.

Martin approaches him slowly.

“…Derek?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says. “but I’d start at Deucalion’s hideout.”

The woman nods, then turns towards Erica and Scott.

“What you did-,” she starts, and then Erica interrupts.

“He was helping us,” Erica says quickly, and Stiles bites his tongue.

 _Well,_ he thinks, _at least she’s consistently insubordinate._ It makes him smile a little.

“…yes,” Martin manages, raising an eyebrow. “For now…he may accompany yourself or Scott. But we _will_ speak about this.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Stiles watches the President pause, giving Isaac a once-over, before she turns on her heel and follows Deucalion’s procession.

“Well,” Stiles says, “let’s find him.”

* * *

“Are we sure about this?”

“When are we sure about anything?” Stiles replies, slipping into the hallway lined with doors.

He could see the hostile expressions as they moved through the building. He assumes Erica just _looks_ like MACUSA; he’s curious what they think of him. In any case, it’s probably not safe to stay for long. They just need to find the apartment and get out…

“Stiles,” she suddenly whispers, her hand darting out to pull him back.

“What?”

A nod towards the left. He follows her gaze, looking at the small spark of magic on the floor. _Clever,_ he thinks, and then he glances at Boyd. He’d been surprised when the man had come along. _I want to find him, too,_ he’d said.

“I’ll give you time and space. The barrier won’t last forever,” Boyd says, moving across the hall and towards the spark.

Boyd breaks the charm easily, and then there’s a second of wailing noise before silence descends. Stiles moves quickly, hearing Erica’s footsteps behind him, and Boyd’s shield encloses them in the remainder of the hallway. _Come on,_ he thinks, looking between doors. _Come on._

“Here!” Erica shouts, standing by a door, and Stiles spins to join her.

“There may be others inside,” Stiles starts, but Erica growls.

“I’m blasting it.”

_All right, then._

The door flies open with a spectacular _bang_ and then they’re storming the room, watching the floor crackle with curses and charms. It’s easy enough to knock out the men inside- they’re scared, Stiles thinks, and desperate after the failed invasion. They make mistakes, and it’s simple to find opening in their attacks and stun them.

The question is, where is Derek?

“He has to be here,” Stiles breathes, heart still racing with adrenaline. “Erica-,”

“He has to,” she repeats, moving around the apartment, just restrained enough not to tear the place apart.

_Where would they put him? A man so powerful? Where?_

They open and close doors, searching, and then Erica pauses.

“Stiles,” she calls, unsure.

He moves across the room to her. It’s a dresser- large, old, cherry wood. There’s a shelf inside, and resting on it is a heavy box. A box with strange designs on the side, curling around each other and the iron handles.

“It’s a prison,” he says, reaching out to touch the lock.

“Wait-,”

It’s too late. Something reacts, sparking red, and he hisses in pain as he withdraws his hand. The lock glows ominously.

“We have to get him out,” Erica insists, worried. “Let’s get it back to headquarters. Someone must be able to open it. If we have to, we’ll make Deucalion.”

 _Something tells me it won’t be that easy,_ Stiles thinks, trying to pull the box towards him. It doesn’t budge.

“It won’t move,” he starts, and then something moves on his shoulder. “Pickett?”

The bowtruckle moves along his arm, tiny limbs waving as it makes its way towards the box.

“Will your creature be okay?” Erica asks, concerned.

“Of course,” Stiles smiles, but he’s still worried. “They’re widely known, unfortunately, for their lock picking abilities.”

He holds his breath, watching Pickett work.

_Click._

The lid opens and he exhales, relieved but still tense. He’s not sure he’ll like what he sees.

It’s a nightmare, really. He’s only ever really heard of these kinds of prisons- trunks and boxes with extending charms, usually protected by some sort of powerful magic, meant to keep people inside. They can sap away a wizard’s magic, the consequences of which can be nightmarish.

He looks down, wary, and then he sees him. Derek. He’s sitting at the bottom of the box, amid white walls and a white floor.

“Thank god,” Stiles groans, almost slumping against the box.

“I’ll get him,” Isaac says, moving forward, the first time he’s spoken.

“You’re sure?”

“Not really,” he smiles.

 _Humor. Good,_ Stiles thinks, watching Isaac move into the box. He wonders about the boy’s magic- something swirling and black, like smoke. It’s almost the same as the Obscurial, he thinks, but without the spark of fire in it. _Maybe it’s the same. Maybe all that’s changed is how he uses it._

“Wow,” Erica whispers, and then Isaac is back again, smoke curling around him as he tries to support Derek.

He looks like hell- no crisp suit lines, bruises on his cheekbones, a cut on the edge of his lip. Stiles hurts inside a little, watching Isaac let Derek down onto the floor.

“Erica, take Isaac and notify the President,” Stiles says. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” Derek says quietly, before Isaac can leave him.

“…you would have tried to help me. You did,” Isaac says.

Stiles watches him leave, wondering where this will go. Where everything will go.

“…how are you?” he tries to ask. “I mean- clearly- I’m sorry, that was…”

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Derek sighs. “I will be.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

“You couldn’t. Not _didn’t_.”

He looks over the man. Handsome. Obviously strong. Reserved. _I wonder…_

“You never told me why you brought me here,” Stiles tries, smiling.

“Didn’t I?”

“Not really.”

Derek’s smile fades a little. Stiles bites his cheek, ready to apologize, thinking _of course I put my foot in it, the poor man only just-_

“I was interested.”

“…interested?” Stiles stammers, blinking rapidly.

Derek smiles a little, tired, and looks up at the ceiling for a moment.

“Selfish, really.”

“…not really,” Stiles tries, lowering himself onto the floor.

He’s biting back a smile but something tells him Derek can tell anyways. The older man tilts his head, eyes searching, and the faintest smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. _Oh. Wow. He looks even better when he smiles…_

“Is that so?”

“I’m a scientist,” Stiles starts primly, scooting closer, “I’m naturally curious, you know-,”

Derek’s hand encircles his wrist and he pauses, swallowing, watching the callused fingers move.

“Hm,” Derek murmurs, an amused light sparkling in his eyes. “That’s good to know.”

Stiles blinks, thinking _should we or shouldn’t we, is this the right time, is there ever going to be a right time,_ but before he can move the door opens again.

He feels a moment of despair, turning, thinking only that he _will not let them take Derek_ , and then Boyd steps in. One of his eyebrows is quirked and Stiles thinks that’s probably Derek’s influence.

“Good to see you’re both still alive,” Boyd says mildly. “Help is here.”

“Right,” Stiles stammers, scrambling to his feet, and then he turns back to Derek. “Um-,”

Derek stifles a grin, reaching for the offered hand, and when he stands he leans against Stiles.

“Guess you’ll have to satisfy your curiosity later,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles tries not to flush too crimson at the low voice in his ear.

“I don’t know. You’ll be confined to bed for a while. Won’t be any fun to just lay there,” he suggests, scratching his nose because he can’t suppress the smile stretching his mouth.

Derek glances down at him, eyes bright.

“No. I suppose it wouldn’t be. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I’ve heard company is good when you’re confined to bed.”

“Company. I like that idea.”


End file.
